


Before the Storm

by Natassia74



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Awkward Romance, F/M, First Time, Gratuitous Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 08:59:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19438177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natassia74/pseuds/Natassia74
Summary: Jaime would be lying if he denied indulging in the odd fantasy about seducing Brienne.  But he would also be lying if he claimed he had any ideahowto do that.What if Jamie and Brienne got together the night before the Battle of Winterfell?





	Before the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this amazing twitter remake of the drinking game scene by @darcydash1 on Twitter:
> 
> https://mobile.twitter.com/darcydash1/status/1145023921282080768?s=19
> 
> (mentions of past Jaime/Cersei for those worried by that)

Jaime clumsily poured the last of the wine, now more dregs than liquid, into his cup, and let his eyes drift to Brienne as he finished his drink. She sat by the remains of the fire, lost in thought, smiling softly to herself. The flames had dwindled to embers, emitting a warm light that made her pale flaxen hair look almost golden and her breastplate glow. 

_A knight in shining armour indeed._

Their companions had each drifted off, in their various ways. Pod was snoring quietly by the fire, his hands clasped under his cheek. Giantsbane was snoring loudly in his chair, his discarded drinking horn at his feet. Davos had begged off some time ago, explaining that he needed a walk. And Tyrion, damn him, had taken his leave shortly after Davos, giving Jaime a pointed wink in Brienne's direction as he did.

_Just what does he think I'm going to do_? Jaime wondered.

He didn’t really need an answer to that question. Tyrion had always had a one track mind. 

Jaime would be lying if he denied indulging in the odd fantasy about seducing Brienne. But he would also be lying if he claimed he had any idea _how_ to do that. He had never seduced a woman in his life - Cersei having taken the initiative with them, back in the mists of time. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to try, the problems were so numerous.

First, he wasn't quite sure how Brienne felt about him, other than that she apparently, inexplicably, trusted him and was prepared to stake her honour and reputation on that trust. Which had to mean something. He _thought_ she looked at him with affection, and maybe more, but his ego could be playing tricks. Trust or not, there was the risk that if he overstepped the line with Brienne, she'd geld him _. And n _o hand and no cock would ensure his life truly was a fucking misery, even worse than it was at present._ _

Then there was his dubious past, his pending fourth child, his fucked up, never-ending feelings for the mother of that child, who happened to be his sister, and the fact he was very probably a prisoner in this Gods forsaken hellhole. He wasn't really in a position to start _courting_. Which was another thing he had never done before in his life. 

And finally, there was the surprising fact that he was enjoying just being _with_ Brienne. He hadn't had this kind of companionship with her in years, not since the lengthy journey from Harrenhal to Kings Landing, during which, traumatised as they had been, they had chatted and taunted each other, and become _friends._ But even on that trip, they had to endure the constant presence of Steelshanks and his men, around whom Brienne was invariably shy. Once they returned to Kings Landing they had a few pleasant days, where they had basically argued in a good way, and he had pondered finding her a place at Court, but then Joff died and it all went to shit. He'd had to be careful then, too, as Cersei was paranoid and jealous, and even when he was alone with Brienne he'd never been able to shake the feeling they were being watched. 

_Probably because I was being watched - by Cersei and Tyrion and Littlefinger and Varys and Tywin and likely bloody Olenna too._

And then, after that, she was gone. Gone until Riverrun, and that brief, awkward conversation in his tent that had left his chest aching and his mind churning and his entire _being_ possessed of a cold, ruthless desperation to resolve the siege peacefully. _Without fighting Brienne._ And he did just that, but then she was gone, again. Until the Dragonpit. He recalled that meeting, Cersei's angry glare, her impatience, the way she'd shot arrows at Brienne with her eyes. _Now, that had been uncomfortabl_ e _, i_ _f not a little gratifying._ But jealous Cersei was dangerous Cersei, so he'd let any thought of Brienne go, until Cersei finally betrayed him one to many times, and he'd headed up north. Here. To reclaim his honour, and do what was right, for once.

_And,_ he thought, _maybe, just maybe, to serve under Brienne._ _Genuinely serve under her, as a soldier. And not in the way Tyrion would interpret that phrase. Although maybe that way too ... if she wants. Which she probably doesn't. Because she's too bloody pure and innocent to even understand what_ wanting _is. And, fuck, I shouldn't even be thinking about her like this..._

But he _wanted._ He wanted Brienne. And for Jaime, who had never in his life wanted any woman but his sister, it was all very confusing. 

He turned his attention back to the room. It was now late, on the eve of battle, and that meant it was not the time to dwell on this problem. Brienne appeared to be nodding off in her chair. They both needed to get to bed. Sleep, he thought, was an option that was vastly preferable to examining his feelings. 

Jaime took a breath, and covered the few steps back to Brienne's side. He contemplated sitting beside her again - he had not so subtly maneuvered her chair next to his earlier that night - but settled on standing near her, not quite touching her, but close. _So close_. He wondered how she'd react if he put a hand of her shoulder. He raised his left arm, but decided not to risk it. She could be prickly like that. Skittish too, and the last thing he wanted to do tonight was scare her away.

"May I walk you to your chambers, Ser Brienne?" He asked, instead.

She jerked, as if woken from a reverie, and looked up at him with slightly unfocused eyes. He was bemused. It was not often she was caught unawares. _What was she thinking about_ , he wondered. _Getting knighted? Gutting wights? Tormund Giantsbane?_ Perish the thought. 

"Oh, yes, it's very late..." She flushed.

_Interesting. Whatever she was thinking about was enough to make her flush. It better fucking not be Giantsbane…_

Brienne stood up, a little wobbly, and he instinctively offered her his arm. She looked at it for a moment, pondering, probably working through whether taking it would be a sign of respect for Jaime or weakness on her part. After a moment's hesitation, she acquiesced, and wrapped her arm around his. He was absurdly pleased she'd accepted it for what it was, an honour rather than a condescension. 

It took Brienne a few clumsy steps to fall into a rhythm beside him, and Jaime wondered if she had ever held a man's arm before. Surely one of those three suitors, or at least Renly? She smiled at him, almost shyly, and he began to think that maybe she hadn’t. The smile was nice. She wasn't usually a drinker, but she had a couple of cups of watered wine tonight, and it was making her unusually mellow. _Well, that the knighting_. He had never seen her smile like she did when he told her to arise. Her happiness had been contagious, and put them all in a good mood, surprisingly good, given that they were facing their likely horrible deaths by undead horde in mere hours. 

_Undead horde. Dragons._ He still couldn't believe this shit.

Pod gave a particularly dramatic snore, and Brienne turned and cast a furtive look in his direction. Her eyes widened. 

"He's sleeping in his armour," she said, concerned.

"I used to be able to do that. Now it would throw my back out," Jaime observed.

'I should wake him..." Brienne said, reluctantly, almost maternally. Now _that_ tone stirred something in Jamie he didn’t want to examine too closely. 

"Leave him," he advised. "If he's managed to fall asleep in that, he's out for the night."

Brienne smiled fondly at her squire and nodded, "Very well then. He'll be very apologetic tomorrow."

_Tomorrow, he will have other things on his mind_ , thought Jaime, but he didn't voice his concerns aloud. 

With Brienne on his arm, he set off down one of the dim halls. _Trust northerners to not waste candles on unimportant things like light._ He didn't get very far, realising within a few meters that he had no idea where he was going. 

"I don't actually know where your chambers are," he confessed, chagrined. "So I guess you'll have to walk _me_ back there..."

As soon as he said it, he realised how it sounded. He had been going for self-mocking, not suggestive or presumptuous. But Brienne either didn't notice, or let it go.

"Some escort you are," she huffed. "Alright, come on." 

This time, she led the way. The hallways were busy, with plenty of small folk and castle labourers carrying out last minute tasks, but no one paid them any real mind. Here, he wasn't Lord Lannister, the Lord Commander, or the brother and lover of the Queen, he was just another roughly armoured soldier, preparing for what may be his last night on earth. Brienne stood out more, but he supposed people were used to her by now, and had other things to worry about than two old soldiers, possibly in their cups, hobbling back to their rooms.

Brienne's chambers were in the rather nice part of the castle, close to where he'd been put up a decade ago. _Not too far from where the Lord's Chambers, and Sansa either_ , he noted. He supposed that was deliberate. She'd also got in before the onslaught of soldiers and refugees, and in that sense was lucky. He didn't have chambers. He hadn’t expected them, but he’d still been surprised when he’d been only grudgingly assigned a spot in the barracks, really little more than a pile of straw. It smelt like urine and rats. Quite the come down for a man used to silk and cotton, and an unpleasant reminder of the last time he was in the custody of a Stark. 

He’d thereafter quickly staked out a place on Tyrion’s floor. "You're such a princess," Tyrion had complained, but he didn't seem to mind too much. The brothers were happy to be back together, even if it was at the end of the world. 

Brienne and Jaime slowed their pace, and then halted outside Brienne’s chambers. Jaime realised, as they did, that he had no idea what do to in this situation. _I should say goodbye and go,_ he thought. But he didn't really want to. He wasn't even sure _she_ wanted him to. She was still holding his arm, and glancing from the door, to him, then back to the door, as if engaged in some kind of internal debate.

'Well, um..." he began, and then lost his train of thought. To his horror, he realised he bouncing a bit on his feet, like some bloody thirteen year old squire. The only saving grace was that she looked uncertain too, although maybe she was trying to work out if he needed to go to the jakes.

He really should go. Before he did something stupid, or inappropriate.

"Goodnight, my lady... Ser Brienne..." he finally managed to get out. 

He gently released her arm, and started to turn away.

Then Brienne spoke, "Jaime..."

Not _Ser Jaime_ , just _Jaime._ His heart pounded. He turned back.

"Yes, Brienne." 

They had been standing close as it was, but as he turned, she leaned in and nearly closed the sparse distance between them. 

"Thank you," she said simply, her lips so close to his he could feel the heat of her breath.

And then she kissed him. Well, sort of. She pressed her lips to his, chastely but keenly. They were chapped, but warm, and he was so stunned he may as well have been struck full force with a morning star for his ability to respond. Then, as quickly as it had happened, it was over, and she took a step back. 

He gaped at her.

Her face flushed a little pink. She looked down at him, shyly, hopefully, and then her eyes flicked away. He realized, with a sinking feeling, that she must have been disappointed by his shocked expression. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered, ducking her head and turning back to the door. "I just...thank you..."

Jaime took a deep breath, tried to get a hold of himself. There was a tourney of emotions competing in his stomach, and he was also battling with a sudden impulse to grab her and kiss her properly. He almost did it too, but then he heard the sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway. _This is not the time or place,_ he realised. 

Unfortunately, Brienne appeared to adopt another interpretation of his hesitancy, her face dropping into a portrait of embarrassment. 

"I should go..." She muttered, pushing open the door to her chambers, and almost falling through.

It took Jaime another heartbeat to work out what was happening, and by then the door was almost closed. 

"Wait, Brienne!"

He put his left hand on the door to stop it closing. She didn't really resist. With a furtive glance down the corridor, he pushed it open, slipped in, and closed it behind him, hoping he hadn't been observed. Gods know what would happen to Brienne's reputation were a drunken kingslayer seen barging into her rooms late at night...

Once in, he just stood there, staring, like some mute idiot, his arse against the door and his feet frozen to the floor. Brienne lingered only a little further inside her room, looking at him with an expression he couldn't read. _Curiosity? Surprise? Pleasure?_ Seven, he was getting ahead of himself.

For a long moment, neither spoke, and then Jaime said, blankly: "You kissed me..."

She went from pink, to red, but stood her ground. "Yes. I did".

"Why?"

She hesitated. "Well, I ... um, am grateful for what you did for me. Tonight, I mean...." She faltered.

" _Grateful,_ " he repeated the word incredulously. He adopted a slightly higher tone for the first four words. "'Thank you Ser Jaime', is grateful. Politely kissing me on the cheek is grateful. But you _kissed me properly!_ "

She looked down, embarrassed. 

And then he had to know. "Have you even kissed anyone before?" 

'What?" She looked surprised and a little hurt. "Why, was it that bad?"

"No!" Gods, she was frustrating. "No it was not bad. At all. And I ... _Seven Hells, what are you doing Brienne?"_

She closed her eyes for a long moment, drew a breath, and seemed to come to some kind of conclusion. 

"Come on, Jaime, you have to know."

_This again? Know what?_ He was beginning to think people thought he could read minds. 

“I surely have no idea” he said, honestly.

She gave him a look akin to one a disappointed septon may give a particularly stupid child. ”Then why are you here?”

“I told you, to fight the dead –“

“No, I heard that speech. Why are you _here_. In my chambers. _Now._ ”

It was his turn to look at her like she was mad. “Because you just fucking kissed me.”

She gave an exasperated cry and threw her hands in the air. 

They stood for a moment, eyeing each other, until Jaime said said the most pointless thing to come into his mind. "It's bloody hot in here..." 

He did feel like he was burning up. He turned and begun loosening his leather gorget.

"Don't change the subject," Brienne said firmly. 

“I don’t even know what the subject is…” he grumbled. 

His chest felt tight and his breathing hitched. He struggled with gorget but it would not cooperate. _Why won’t this bloody thing just come off?!_

He heard Brienne sigh, as if a heavy burden were placed on her shoulders for her to endure. _That would me_ , he thought resignedly. 

Then she said, slowly. “Jaime, all my life I have been proper and diligent and responsible. I fulfill my oaths, I listen to the septons, I try to put others needs before my own. But I may well die tomorrow, and you might too. I _want_ to be irresponsible for once. And I want it to be with you."

He stopped, froze, the gorget askew. His mind started running through some possible meanings of 'irresponsible', in the context of Brienne. Clearly, she was talking about something more than not oiling her armour. Staying up the entire night before a battle to save the world? Yes, possible, but he wasn't sure how that would involve him. Getting drunk before said battle? Also possible, although not something he could imagine Brienne doing. Saying "screw it all" and getting on horses and riding the hell out of here? Definitely irresponsible, and very tempting, but more something he'd expect from Cersei. That left only a few other options...

It was dawning on him, with a kind of delirious certainty, what she wanted. Why she had taken him back here, and kissed him, and allowed him into her chambers. Yet it just seemed so unlikely. Brienne was so proper. So _innocent._ Was that the right word - _innocent?_ It was a strange word to use for a brutal soldier who he had watched kill men in cold blood. One _slowly_ , he remembered, with a shiver. And yet, it wasn't inaccurate, particularly when it came to men. She had never, to his knowledge, had so much as a flirtatious affair. She'd been almost pathetically happy with to settle for unrequited love with Renly. She was oddly trusting and naïve of him, although he wasn't about to complain about that. She’d probably never been kissed before. There was no doubt she was a maid.

Except that now, if he wasn't delusional, she was asking him to change that last fact. He wasn't about to complain about that either... _except....except_....

He felt like a squire before his first battle - nervous and excited at once. He needed to think. He ground his teeth and looked away, looked anywhere but at Brienne. He examined her room. It was basic and functional, as he expected. There was a table, a chair, a stand for her armour, a fireplace, a trunk. And, er, yes a bed. Where she sleeps. He tried to look somewhere else. Was this carpet really Dornish...

What should he say if she was offering to let him have her? He didn't want to hurt her. But he couldn't accept the offer, not tonight, when she was probably scared, and a bit tipsy, and _grateful._ When he hadn't yet been upfront with her, about Cersei, and the baby, and his conflicted feelings and, well, everything else. _Couldn't, shouldn't, wouldn't_... 

But his chest was aching, and there was a growing heat in his groin and a _longing_ running through every nerve in his body. Isn’t this what he had wanted? He couldn't not look at her any longer. When he finally turned his gaze to her, he found Brienne was watching him with her large, blue eyes. _Beautiful eyes._ He wasn't sure how he could refuse them. 

But he had to. He'd fucked up so much in his life. Nearly everything, really. This, with Brienne, was one of the few good things he had left. He couldn't risk fucking this up too, no matter what he wanted.

"I'm not right for you, Brienne," he said carefully, and his voice sounded strangled even to him. 

She blinked, and he had a sudden, horrible fear that she may be about to cry. But when she spoke, her voice was steady.

"Why?"

He decided to be honest. "I'm old. I'm tainted. I can't offer you anything. I no longer have a title, lands. My sword arm is gone. My honour is beyond repair. I have no idea what I am even going to _do_ if I survive tomorrow. I don't even know if I'm any good at... _this." That was surprisingly candid_. "I am the worst possible choice."

Brienne took a deep breath, and then a careful step toward him. "I don't think of you that way, at all, Jaime. I meant what I said at your trial, that you are a man of honour. I wouldn't ..." she paused, as if searching for a word, " _admire_ you if you weren't. I wish you could see yourself as I do.” 

She took another step toward him, carefully. She was holding out her hand to him, almost as if she were approaching a nervous dog.

"I wish I could _make_ you see yourself as I do." She continued. "I wish you'd let me. And as for the land, the titles, I don't care." She enunciated every one of the last three words clearly. "I'm not asking for anything like that. I ... don’t have expectations. I just want tonight."

_But you will care_ , Jaime thought, _after_. Any yet, he could not stop himself. He took another step closer to her. 

"And what happens tomorrow, when reality sets in, and you're no longer a maid, because you've fucked the most dishonourable man in Westeros...." he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"That won’t happen, because the man I will have slept with is an honourable, good man," she said firmly. He grabbed his left hand, clasped it in her warm, strong fingers. "And as for losing my maidenhead," she shrugged. "It is not a decision that I made lightly. But, I am over thirty years old, Jaime. I am not like to marry now, and if I do, it will not be for my chastity. I may not even be alive after tomorrow. If I am bleeding out on the battlefield or getting chewed on by wights, I am much more like to regret the things I haven't done, rather than those I have."

Jaime very much doubted that would be the case for him "There's more than enough that I have done that I regret, without starting on what I haven't..." he admitted. 

She gave him a sad look at that, empathy in her eyes. He honestly had no idea how he had managed to earn such care and faith from this noble woman. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, risk her regard...

He examined Brienne's countenance closely, trying to discern what had brought this on. Her colour was still high, and she was clearly nervous and a bit embarrassed. She had allowed herself to be very vulnerable, perhaps more so than he had ever seen her. Yet, there was also determination in her voice. 

His stomach was in his throat. He swallowed.

"Jaime..." she began, then stopped, took a breath, and started again. "We've been through so much. You're ... well, you're my friend, my good friend, at least. And I care about you, and you are the only person I can imagine doing this with."

His breath hitched. Did she just admit she had imagined fucking him?

She lifted his hand, the hand holding his, to her chest, and took a final, cautious step toward him. He could _feel_ her, inches from him. It was like some mystic force was binding them together. _Which is not impossible, these days,_ he thought with a small amount of mirth.

This was such a terrible idea. Except that it wasn't. He looked at her face, her honest and unguarded expression, and then at their joined hands, where she held them to her breast. He felt his resolve collapse. 

_Oh fuck it._

He was only a man, and one who had dreamed of this moment for years. He reached out, wrapped his right arm around her, pulled her against him, and kissed her. And this time the kiss wasn't chaste, not in the least. He teased her mouth open, and then plundered her, inviting her tongue to wrestle with his, and invade in turn. They both moaned. She was clumsy and inexperienced, but so enthusiastic it was endearing. 

When he broke off the kiss to breathe, he smirked at her. "Had you imagined that?" he asked. 

She flushed. "Yes..." she conceded. 

The confession send a shot straight to his groin.

They stood still for a moment, lost in each other's eyes, and in the dizziness of the anticipation. And then, abruptly, they began tearing at each's armour. They could not have been less conveniently attired for spontaneous undressing. They struggled with each other's clasps and buckles, Jaime awkwardly working with his one arm, Brienne trying to assist, her limbs contorting to weird angles to do so. It was unbelievably frustrating. _This must be why women wear dresses..._

'Bloody hell..." Jaime swore, struggling with a particularly tough clasp. 

"Well, you'll have to work it out, because I can't reach it, and I am _not_ calling Pod for assistance," Brienne warned, although not without amusement in her voice. 

"If you wanted to seduce me, why insist on wearing armor...?" 

"I did not plan this in advance," she said incredulously. "And anyway, we're about to go into battle, I can't hardly wear a frock.” 

“Fucking inconvenient battle..."

"I think you’ll find it’s the motivation for this - careful, I'm going to have to put that back on soon!"

Somewhat incredibly, and despite the fumbling and the bickering, Jaime got there in the end. 

Then they stood before each other, in shirts and breeches, their armour and weapons and boots scattered messily on the floor. Jaime suspected Brienne was fighting the urge to tidy them up, but if so, she clearly won, because she reached up and undid the ties on her shirt, then, a heartbeat later, lowered the fabric off her shoulders and let it fall, adding to the pile at her feet. Then, to his utter shock, and before he could fully comprehend what he was seeing, she undid the cord on her breeches, pulled them loose, and let them drop to the floor in a puddle as well. She stood before him wearing only smallclothes, and an expression of nervous expectation. Taking a deep breath, trembling a little, she shed the smallclothes too. 

It was nothing he hadn't seen before, first at those baths in Harenhall, and then many times in his mind since. At yet, it was magnificent to see her nude again, and this time so willing. He looked her up and down. She was, if anything, even more toned than she had been last time, and muscles rippling down her flat stomach and across her shoulders and thighs. Her breasts were as small as he remembered, but still high and firm, topped with dusky pink nipples, and covered in scars. She still had that thick thatch of blonde curls at the juncture of her thighs. She was almost the complete opposite of Cersei, with her large breasts, soft stomach and nearly hairless body, but he felt no less desire for her. 

_The only two women have I ever desired like this...and they could not be more different._

Brienne's hands twitched at her sides, and he could tell she was apprehensive, uncertain about her large body and longing to cover herself. He took a steadying breath, and smiled at her reassuringly, trying to add just the right degree of lusty lasciviousness. Given how nervous he was, he probably only pulled off 'grinning idiot'. Still, he hoped the bulge in his breaches would allay any other concerns she might have. 

He realised he was very overdressed. 

His fingers trembled as he tried to undo the ties at his neck, and failed. He was suddenly all thumbs. _Bloody hell._ He resorted to his teeth. When Brienne noticed, she pushed his hands out of the way - "oh, let me" - and helped him undress, pulling the cords free on his shirt. She was so efficient that he didn't have the time to feel the humiliation he probably should. She reached for the hem of his shirt, and lifted it over his head. It got caught on the gold hand, and she quickly untied that too, letting it and the shirt fall the floor together. 

He ignored the immediate urge to hide the ugly, puckered stump. Brienne paid it no mind at all. _She doesn't care,_ he thought warmly. He was infinitely grateful that she didn't seem to make any deal of it at all. _It’s not an intrusive mutilation to Brienne, it’s just a part of our story._

Her shaky fingers were reaching for the tie his pants. As she did, he involuntarily thrust his hips in her direction, and her hands away jerked in surprise. "Gods, sorry" he whispered. She just smiled, a little nervously, and went back to pulling the strings undone. _This is surreal,_ he thought. Of all the things he had expected to happen today, knighting Brienne and then laying with her were not amongst them. 

He needed to get a grip. What they were doing couldn't be undone. He gently put his hand over hers, holding her back from the final step. If this went any further, he didn't know if he could bear to stop. He needed to be sure. 

"What are we doing Brienne?" he asked, desperately. 

"What we want to, for once," she answered. 

She brushed his hand away, and then pulled the waistband loose and pushed his breeches down, revealing his straining cock. Her gaze dropped to it and _she licked her lips_. He had not thought it possible to get any harder, but he did. He ached for her. The longing was a sweet kind of agony. 

On, he'd longed for Cersei before, when he'd been separated from her, when he could see her and couldn't touch her. But he'd never longed for her when he was _with_ her, never like this. Except for that one, wonderful night, when she'd made those promises and let him stay with her, their encounters had always been quick, rough, snatched whenever they could. They would find each other, and get on with it, making promises of devotion, yes, but striving, rutting, to reach completion as fast as possible so that they could once again part and be safe. He knew that Brienne would not tolerate that, any more than Cersei would like this.

Jaime pulled Brienne to him again, and kissed her. He groaned at the feeling of their bodies pressed against his cock. He was not going to last long. He felt her run her large, calloused hands up and down his back, his sides, his neck, up into his hair and down over his arse. He held her to him with his right arm, managed to get his left between them to tweak a nipple and gently squeeze her breast. She gasped, and then laughed. He pushed her back toward the bed. They tumbled onto it, together, kissing and touching and exploring each other. 

When they broke apart for air, she was lying beneath him, somewhat splayed, panting and smiling. He drank her in. She wasn't conventionally beautiful, by any means, but the sight of her strong body, willing subdued beneath him, had its own intoxicating charm. He lowered his mouth to her unattended breast, run his tongue gently around the areola, and then suckled the mound into his mouth. It was a perfect mouthful. She cried out in surprise and, he hoped, pleasure. He then moved his hand from her other breast, trailing it over her flat stomach, and down through the curls at the apex of her legs, then moving his fingers into her cunt. 

She was wet. _That's good_ , he thought. Cersei had always been wet, always ready, but he had heard other women weren't, or that they needed help. He dipped a finger into her slick, and dragged it up to her clit, circling it lazily. She jerked and jumped and then, catching on, ground herself against him. He grinned into the soft flesh of her breast, giving it a final kiss. Then he started moving his body down hers, trailing kisses along her chest and her stomach and lower. 

When he reached the area at the top of her curls, she gasped, almost sat up.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, her voice high, stunned, even a little scared.

"I'm not going to last long, inside you”, he said, nuzzling the soft flesh on her mound. "I'm going to take care of you first..."

"But, how, what...?" she stammered. She started to close her legs, embarrassed, but he held them open. "I don't...this is not ..." she gasped, fighting him, albeit half-heartedly.

He ignored her. "Trust me" he smirked. And then he pushed her legs apart, and dove between them, kissing her _there_ with everything he had. 

She cried out. "Oh, Seven, oh!" Her hands flew into her hair, pulling it, almost painfully. She raised her legs, spread her knees even further. He continued to lick, and suck, and tease until he heard her gasp, felt her stiffen. Her thighs locked around his head and she cried out again, so loud he expected Sansa could hear them. 

_Good._

She shivered, and shook, her hand in his hair relaxing from the harsh pulling into gentle stroking. He rested his head on her thigh, and blew on her gently, until she came back down. 

Then she was pulling him up to her. He complied, gliding up her body. They were both covered in a layer of sweat, which made things that much easier. When he was back eye to eye with her, he lowered his mouth and kissed her passionately, let her taste herself on his lips. She obviously liked it, because she held the back of his head to her, and kissed him back, languidly. She was still clumsy and a bit awkward - too many teeth - but she was improving quickly. 

He wanted to be close to her again, now. He needed to _fuck._ Impulsively, he rolled them over, so Brienne was on top. She stared down at him, surprised, and then, to his surprise, she pressed herself up. She towered above him in a way Cersei never did, powerful, compelling. She moved back, lower on his body, and moved her rear to rub against his cock, breasts bouncing. _Fuck me._ He arched into her air, gasping, and then attempted to take back control by rolling her onto her back, grinding his cock against her snatch, her stomach. And, suddenly, they were wrestling. Playing. It was an informal test of strength, and they were both laughing, and _Gods_ , he'd hadn't laughed when screwing for years, even decades. He'd forgotten how _fun_ this could be. Cersei never had fun anymore. She would have taken his laughter as some kind of mockery and tried to kill him. When had everything with her gotten so serious and manic?

And finally, when they were panting, and slick, and he could bear it no more, and after he managed to get her back onto back, he reached down with his left hand and positioned himself to enter her. He watched her face as he did, carefully holding his cock at her entrance but no further. She bit her lip at the sensation. He balanced himself above her on his right arm, the left still between their legs, and gave her a final, long, desperate look. 

"This is mad," he said with a soft smile. "What are we doing?”

She reached up and caressed his face. "Jaime, we're about to go into battle with an army of the dead and a reanimated dragon. And you think _this_ is mad?" 

But it _was_ mad. He was no stranger to women wanting to fuck him. Whores came out of the woodwork for a man with wealth. But he had resisted them all. He had rarely even been interested. He had never been with anyone but Cersei. He had prided himself on it, worn it as a ironic badge of honour, the only last shred of knightly virtue and respect he had for himself. And yet here he was, about to fuck his friend, _his idol,_ and on the night that the world might end no less. 

_But she wants me, and I want her._ That's the difference. Only, he didn't just want to fuck Brienne _._ He wanted to laugh with her and talk with her and _be_ with her. And, Gods, be more like her. And fight beside her. 

He hoped _this_ wouldn't ruin that. But, he thought, _this_ , whatever it was, was worth a chance.

And maybe, just maybe, if he gave himself to her, and she took him, wanted him, _loved him,_ maybe she could save him.

"Yes, it's mad, but it's bloody wonderful too," he said. And he kissed her again, more gently. 

She laughed, and bucked a little, trying to pull him inside her a fraction further. She made a little sound of frustration when he didn't work. So he moved his hips a fraction, putting himself deeper inside her. There was some resistance, and _Seven she was tight_. 

"Allright?" he asked. 

She nodded. "Yes." 

He slowly pushed forward some more This time she gasped at the intrusion, and he could feel her hands digging into him.

"Gods, I'm sorry..." he murmured, sorry for hurting her, even though he knew she'd had far worse. He had hurt her far worse, in that first fight. The fight that was more dancing that fighting. _A taste of tonight_ , he thought.

"It's fine. Good," she gasped. "Keep going."

He didn’t know that he could cease if he tried. He pushed further, until he was completely sheathed in her. It felt exquisitely good. Warm and tight, but best of all enveloping and accepting and real. She had accepted all of him, despite his flaws and his past and his dark and twisted heart.

He held himself above her, still, trying to give her time to adapt. But she wiggled, adjusting him inside her. He groaned and almost came right there. She tightened around him, ran a hand down his back, and then grinned at him. 

"We better get a move on, the apocalypse is coming." She said.

He didn't need to be told twice. Slowly, he withdrew, and then thrust into her again. And again. And again. He could hear himself groaning with each push. Brienne's breath, too, came in short, little pants that were almost moans. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist. He _definitely_ wouldn't last long. 

He wanted to reach between them, touch her, encourage her along again with him, but he was having a hard enough time just holding himself above her. I _'ll have to teach her to take things into her own hands,_ he thought. _Assuming there is a next time_. He was comfortable assuming that there would be. The alternative was too dreadful to contemplate. 

His pace was frantic, disjointed, and they weren't in sync. He knew he needed to slow down, but it was _hard_. Everything with Cersei was so quick. That was what she liked it - fast and hard - and it was what they needed too, to be done. But other women liked to go slow, or so he had heard. Brienne, he thought, would want to go slow. He tried. _Gods_ he tried, but she was so tight, and wet, and her body so warm and strong, and the noises she was making so encouraging, that he was loosing control. 

He could feel her hands running up and down his back, holding him. The pressure in his cock became almost unbearable. He couldn't hold it. He had to come...

"I'm sorry..." he grunted into her ear, allowing himself a final thrust.

'It's fine," she whispered back, and she embraced him and clutched him, with her cunt and her legs and her arms, and _fuck,_ it took everything he had, every once of self control, to pull himself back and out of her. 

She gave a soft moan as he withdrew and the contact between them was broken. His cock, released into the cold air, was red and engorged and glistening with her slick, and a little blood. He didn't even need to touch it before he came, shuddering, thrusting helplessly into the air, his seed spurting and spilling onto the bed beside them.

After, it was as if time froze. He stayed still, incapable of thought or movement beyond simply breathing, limbs trembling, half lying, half sitting, gasping for breath as his cock shrunk and softened between his legs. Then, with a loud groan, he rolled over and collapsed beside her, eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. 

After a moment, he glanced at Brienne, where she lay next to him, apparently also staring at the not very interesting ceiling. _Now this was awkward._ He had no idea what to do now, or even what to expect. He hoped she wouldn't cry - apparently that's what maidens did when deflowered, although he couldn't imagine Brienne ever doing that. Ever.

With Cersei, he'd be picking up his clothes and making a run for it, but that did not seem appropriate in this situation. Besides which, lacking a squire, he couldn't get dressed again by himself anyway, and there was no fucking way he was going to pick up his armour and go back and ask Tyrion for help. He was surprisingly short of words. He settled for reaching his left arm out and gently stroking Brienne’s shoulder. 

She turned and smiled at him. "Thank you," she said, again, warmly.

He laughed at that. "Gods...I think the gratitude is the wrong way around."

"Well, let's see," she smiled at him, her eyes soft and, he thought with a gleam of excitement, filled with cared and admiration. "I had no armour, so you ordered some crafted for me - even getting my measurements correct. I had but a poor sword, so you gave me one made of Valyrian steel. I had no squire, so you found me one of those. I had not a knighthood, so you knighted me. And I wanted to experience this, so...well, we did that. I think I owe you much gratitude, Ser Jaime."

He grinned, sat up slightly, and gently run his fingers from her shoulder to her cheek, then brushed a stray strand of hair out off her forehead. It looked nice out, falling around her face in soft curls. He hadn't expected that.

"What can I say, I'm at my lady's service," he replied finally.

And he meant it. He absolutely was, whatever she wanted.

They lay together in companionable silence, enjoying the calm before the storm. Jaime tried not to think about the approaching army of death, the chaos in Kings Landing, the siren call of Cersei and the child in her womb. Yet try as he might, as the minutes passed, the doubt began to sneak back in, and despair started to toy with the happiness in his mind. 

Fortunately, Brienne sniggered, and this time she pulled him from his reverie. 

"You do realise that we now have to put our armour back on without the help of squires,” she said.

He looked over at the pile on the floor. "That might take some time."

She groaned in agreement. "Then we better get started." 

She began to sit up, but Jaime quickly captured her arm and her gaze.

"We will need to have a long discussion if we live past tomorrow," he said, earnestly.

She nodded, "yes." It was a promise, of a kind.

"Granted, that's a big 'if'," he added.

"I don't think so," Brienne smiled, gently. "I agree with your brother. I think we will live."

Somewhere in the distance, horns sounded. They both looked toward the window. The dead were coming. Jaime sighed, and gave her one last, quick, chaste kiss on the lips, before climbing out of bed himself.

"Well, I guess now is as good a time as any to go and find out."

**Author's Note:**

> I figure they got dressed fast, and couldn't get to the armoury, which is why they forgot their helmets and shields at the Battle for Winterfell :)
> 
> Also, this is definitely showBrienne. She's much older (30+), snarkier, more confident and somewhat ... harder than bookBrienne. I love them both but they are very different characters (although I do tend to think of showBrienne as bookBrienne with another decade's worth of life experience).


End file.
